Finding Moses
by susieq666
Summary: A short coda to 'Coming Home'. For dog-lovers only.


FINDING MOSES

There were so many dogs, it was hard to focus. And it was noisy – barking, the occasional howl… Horatio knew, if he chose a dog, it had to be a small one, so he bypassed the bigger characters. But they all tugged at his heartstrings, whether sitting quietly or jumping up at their cage doors, their eyes saying, 'Pick me, pick me'. There were cards on their doors – approximate age, and known facts – 'good with children', 'no cats', 'must be solo dog', etc.

He wondered about a dog living in a seventh floor condo, but many did. He hesitated over a yellow Labrador – bigger than he wanted, but sitting quietly, watching him intently, its brown eyes hopeful and pleading.

He looked at the card. "Hello, Gus."

The dog wagged its tail. When he put his hand on the mesh, it licked his fingers. The card said, 'Result of divorce. Great with kids, other dogs.'

"You deserve a family, Gus," he said. "I can see you playing in a yard somewhere. You don't want to be stuck with me." He wandered on, down the line. Many of the cards said only 'Stray.'

He came to one cage which he thought was empty, but then observed a small black dog, curled up on a blanket in the far corner. The card read 'Moses. Death of owner.'

Horatio ran his fingers along the mesh. "Hello, Moses…"

The dog raised its head, giving Horatio a brief glance from mournful brown eyes, then curled up again.

"Not talking, eh?"

He walked on, but he was inexorably drawn back to the black dog. He bent down, called the dog's name softly, then sat down by the cage. He got no reaction. If ever an animal was saying 'Leave me alone', this was it. Yet he'd liked what he'd seen. Part-terrier, he thought, small pointed muzzle, soft drooping ears, and those sad eyes. He wanted it to stand up, so he could see it properly, but couldn't persuade it to move.

A staff member came by. "Ah, you've found Moses," she said. "Do you like him?"

"I can't really see him." Horatio scrambled to his feet. "Is he very shy?"

"I don't know. He's stressed by the kennels, but mostly, I think, he's heart-broken." She smiled. "Sorry – we're not supposed to be sentimental about them."

Horatio gestured to the card. "I see his owner died…"

"Elderly lady. The police found him sitting beside her body when they broke in. There were no relatives or anything, so he came to us. Now he hardly eats, and won't interact."

"Poor little soul. Will he come round? I mean, they do get over things, right?"

"Most do. But this was obviously just him and her. The neighbours said she used to toddle out with him twice a day. Go to the local café for a cup of coffee – and a biscuit for him – regular as clockwork. When they missed her for a couple of days, they called the police… Apparently Moses struggled and cried to get in the van that took her body, but once it had gone, he sort of collapsed. I suppose he thought he'd failed." She sighed, then smiled. "Would you like me to get him out?"

Horatio nodded. The woman – Maggie, according to a name tag - got a slip lead and went in to the dog, bringing him, very reluctantly, outside. Moses glanced up and down the kennels, then just stood quietly, head low, tail down between his legs.

"Oh Moses, perk up," Maggie said. "This nice man wants to see you."

What he saw was a small good-looking dog, on the thin side, and so forlorn, it almost brought tears to his eyes.

"He doesn't exactly sell himself," the kennel-maid murmured. "I can't tell you much about his temperament. We haven't heard a peep out of him. He's scared of the other dogs, and of noisy children, and, as I said, he won't eat. But he's been well looked after. He's already neutered, and he's got a clean bill of health. He's not old – about five."

"Could he live in a seventh floor condo?"

"I don't see why not. He was in an apartment, and he clearly didn't get much exercise or socialisation, though he was obviously devoted to his owner. Would he be on his own?"

"No other dogs. Oh, you mean me… I'm semi-retired, and work from home. He wouldn't have to spend more than an hour or two alone, now and again. It's just me, so he'd have a one-to-one again."

"Sounds good," she said hopefully. "Sorry," she apologised again. "He's sort of got to me – I read his story in the paper… They all deserve a home, but him particularly."

"I don't know… He sounds like a big deal. I've only had one other dog, and he was a very cheerful, self-sufficient soul." He smiled, remembering Henry. "He died… bad heart…"

"I'm sorry. Look, you'd better give this one some thought. He may be difficult to bring round. And if he doesn't eat more, he'll be a job for the vet, or…"

"Don't put him down," Horatio said quickly.

"Not yet, we won't. Especially if you're interested."

"I don't know if I'm interested… I don't know if I can cope with him."

"Take a couple of days."

"Don't let anyone else… No, that's not fair, if someone wants him…"

"I'll put 'reserved' on him, but you'll have to let us know." Maggie touched his arm. "I think you'd be a good match."

Horatio smiled briefly. "I'll call you." He bent down to stroke the dog, feeling short velvet-like fur, with a prominent backbone. But he couldn't elicit any response – no tail-wag, nothing.

He walked away quickly. If he'd looked back, he would have seen Moses cast one brief glance at him as he was returned to his cage.

* * *

At home, he sat deep in thought, then turned to the internet. He found a long article on depression in dogs, which was helpful and quite encouraging. He searched for anything on dogs who had lost their owners, and began reading heart-breaking stories of dogs camping outside hospitals for months, dogs sitting beside graves for years on end… Then he researched kennel stress… He closed the computer down and sighed. He felt ill-equipped to help Moses, yet he knew he would never forgive himself if he didn't try.

He could do nothing the next day. He was committed to spending it at the lab. He had to force thoughts of the dog to the back of his mind, and concentrate on his new job. It was mid-afternoon before he had finished his business with Martinez, and then with Eric. Before he left, he asked his brother-in-law, "Have you got any people who know a lot about dogs?"

"You got a dog?"

"Not yet. I've found one I like, but he's got – as Frank would have said – 'issues'."

"You should talk to my Mom. She's always feeding and tending the local strays. Some of them definitely have issues. I'm always worried she'll get bitten."

"Not those sort of issues. This one's quiet as a mouse and not eating – his owner died."

"Give my Mom a call – I'll tell her you will, shall I?"

"No, leave it for now. I'll call her if I get into difficulties."

Eric chuckled. "She says she treats them as children…"

The phrase stuck with Horatio. If it was a child, what would he do? Offer kindness, comfort… But mostly time. The article he'd read suggested exercise. He'd take Moses on the beach, when it was quiet… He wondered if the dog had ever seen the sea.

* * *

The following day, he went back – ready to commit. At the front desk, he was asked his details.

"We'll alter his microchip details to yours." She surveyed the form. "Lieutenant? Military?"

"Police." He smiled. His rank had been reinstated the previous day, and he was still enjoying it.

"I'm supposed to ask for ID, but…"

"Not a problem." He handed over a driving licence.

"And we ask for a donation."

"I know. How much?"

"We hope for a hundred dollars, but it's largely what people can afford." She smiled at him. "We're just so glad to find homes."

"I need a favour. Can you keep him till Saturday? I've got something on Friday evening, and I don't want to leave him alone so soon. I'll pay…"

"I think we can do that. Do you want to see him again?"

"Oh, please."

"He's in the clinic at the moment. Don't worry – we're just trying to feed him up a bit. And it's quieter for him."

While he waited, he wrote out a check for two hundred dollars. It was Maggie who came back, with Moses in her arms. The dog was still downcast, not meeting his eyes.

"How is he?" he asked.

The dog looked up at him.

"Hey, he recognised your voice," Maggie said. "He's okay – a bit less stressed. I wouldn't say happy."

"Moses…" He stroked the dog's head. "Can we be friends, do you think?" The solemn brown eyes met his.

"I think his tail just twitched…" Maggie murmured.

"Is that a 'yes'?" Horatio asked softly. "Is he eating yet?"

"A little. He seems to like chicken and pilchards. Are you keeping his name, by the way?"

"Oh yes. I think he's lost enough, don't you?" He stroked the dog again. "Right, little man, I'll go and do some shopping for you. And I'll see you on Saturday…"

THE END


End file.
